


lux aurumque

by awkwardedgeworth



Series: Aria [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, JJ is a bro, M/M, Minor Victuuri, Otabek-centric, should i even tag it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9185396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardedgeworth/pseuds/awkwardedgeworth
Summary: Otabek is four— five in three months— when his parents tell him they're not his parents.or, the family, friends, rink-mates and coaches in Otabek's life who shaped him through the years.





	

**Author's Note:**

> -bonne journeé can be used as goodbye in quebec  
> -i can't find any age restriction on motorcycle licences in almaty so i'm going to go with canada's driving restrictions
> 
> y'all i started this fic when otabek's 16 doing the summer camp part in korea with seung-gil but i just had to add a shit ton of backstory before that and made this into a monster.  
> some parts of this were...a little hard for me to write, especially regarding otabek's parents and his retirement. it hits close to home.
> 
> (if the ending is quite rushed it's because it is :( i'm going back to school tomorrow and i promised to get this up before then AAAA i hate myself for doing this i'm so sorry) the guilt is eating me right now
> 
> not beta'd
> 
> ** when you reach this ✧✧✧ symbol, it's where the story connects with part one of Aria, or 'distance between our fingers'

Otabek is four— five in three months— when his parents tell them they're not his parents.

"What do you mean?" He looks up at them. His mother and father are holding a portrait (he can't see the people in it since he's still short) and Zarina is quietly looking at them too, her mouth open, "Is Zarina not my sister then?"

"Your mom is my sister," His Used-To-Be-Mom explains, "I'm your aunt, and Daddy— er, your Uncle now— is my husband. Zarina is your cousin."

He's somewhat related to them still, that's okay, they're nice people after all, and he likes them, "Where are my parents then?"

"They're in the States working right now, Beka. Your mom came back to give birth to you but they're working on building a rocket," Auntie magically pulls out a globe behind her, spinning it until she points to a strip of green jutting out of a continent that says USA. "They work at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida." 

"Oh," Otabek looks down at the book Zarina had been reading out loud to him. "Are they busy?"

His aunt gives him a sad smile, "Very busy, they think it's better for you to live with us instead of being dropped off at daycare everyday."

Otabek looks at Zarina, who looks back at him with a semi guilty expression. He looks down at the picture book about the Apollo 11 before looking back up, "I want to see them."

She ruffles his hair and he squirms when Uncle starts tickling him, "They're making plans to visit soon, don't worry."

 

"Soon" was when Otabek was seven.

He stands beside Zarina at the airport, feeling like there's a clamp around his chest as he keeps looking at every adult with dark hair exiting the terminal. His aunt advises him to sit down since their flight is delayed, and so Otabek sits on the hard chairs and inevitably falls asleep.

"—really took you this long to get a leave? Are they working you too hard?" His aunt murmurs from the front seat. Otabek notices that a woman who smells like peonies is strapping his seat belt in even though he never gets strapped in. "Oh, are you strapping him in?"

"Ah, the regulations in the States are stricter, I've completely forgotten the rules here," The Kazakh coming out of her mouth is accented. The lady peers down at him. "Oh, he's awake."

His aunt turns around with a smile, "Otabek! Say hi to your mom!"

The lady— his mom— is joined by a man with lighter hair and strong cheekbones. Otabek tries to compare their faces to his own from memory, finding that he takes more after his mom with her nearly black hair and dark eyebrows, "Hi, Otabek. We'll talk when we get back, okay?"

He nods, and the man goes up to the front with his aunt and his mom squishes into the back next to Zarina, who's stuck in the middle seat. His cousin holds his hand reassuringly as they drive to the inner city. Otabek falls asleep for the second time, disappointed that he can't stay awake.

He skirts around the kitchen when he wakes up, hungry for breakfast. His aunt lifts him up to the sink as he runs his soapy hands under the water, "Where are they?"

"Jet lagged, they took an eighteen hour flight to get here. Do you want to accompany Zarina to the rink? I don't think they'll be up before dinner."

Otabek nods, and gets driven to the local rink with Zarina, stepping onto the ice. She wobbles her way towards to the middle, clutching his arms as she bends over and tries to stand upright. They're among the only people in the rink for the afternoon skate since it's a weekday. 

"Aren't we supposed to be at school?"

"You woke up too late so she didn't make me go either," Zarina tries to wobble forward and yelps, falling and weakly moaning as Otabek zooms to help her up. It's not until he drags both of them to the sides where she can hold the barriers that he feels comfortable enough to let go of her hands. "Why are you so good at sports, Beka?"

He shrugs, and his words tumble out of his mouth without him really thinking about it, "Why are you so good at everything else but sports?"

She juts her bottom lip out and he backpedals, afraid that he's hurt her feelings when a tall shadow looms over them.

Zarina immediately puffs up like their cat, Sacha, when she's threatened, moving Otabek behind her, "Can I help you?" She asks.

The man, wearing a bright blue and yellow toque, holds both of his hands up, "Oh, I'm sorry for surprising you, are you okay little one?"

"I'm fine." Otabek moves his head aside to peer at the stranger, wary but curious at the _Team Kazakhstan_ lettering across his chest. The man notices this and pulls a business card out of his wallet, extending it to them with a mitten clad hand.

"You're good on your feet, young man, you'd be a good skater. If you want, we have lessons here at the rink that you can try."

"I don't like hockey," He mumbles to the ice.

"Oh, what about figure skating?"

Zarina gasps, nearly taking Otabek down with her when she remembers that she's on skates, and flails, "Oh! That was on TV a few days back! Do you remember, Beka? The Russian skater with silver hair longer than mine?"

"That's Victor Nikiforov," The stranger nods, "You were watching the Grand Prix Series in Sofia. There's a figure skating instructor here at the rink too. Who knows," He wistfully says as he shoves his hands into his pockets, "Maybe you'll be the hero we all need."

"Why's that Mister?" Zarina asks for Otabek. 

"The ice rinks are slowly disappearing here, so if we don't get some kids interested in skating, we'll be forced to shut our doors. Give me a call if your parents want more information, okay?" He waves and walks out of the rink, saying a few words to the workers standing at reception before disappearing into a hallway.

 

His mom looks at the card.

"Figure skating," His father mumbles, pen cap in his mouth when Otabek presents the little business card to them after dinner. On his lap was a bunch of graphs and sentences in a weird language. "Well, I don't see why not. It's good for him to try new things. Do you still like taekwondo, Beka?"

Otabek nods, it's one of the few things he and Zarina excel at, even if she's progressing slower than him.

"I wonder how much it'll cost..."

"Don't talk about that in front of him, we're doing better than we expected anyway," His mom scolds, running her hand through his hair, giving him a smile. "I'll talk to your aunt about setting up lessons for you."

"Thank you," His eyes stray to the weird graphs again. It looks cool and complicated but for the life of him he can't read it because it's definitely not Cyrillic. "Um, what is that?"

"The standard deviation graph of the trajectory of a rocket launch we're calculating."

Otabek only understood the last four words, "Okay." He mumbles a thank you to his parents again, and runs out of the room, feeling awkward.

* * *

Otabek is nine— ten in exactly twelve months— when he gets a large box with a lot of shipping stickers from his parents. Zarina is holding Sacha tightly so she doesn't play with the tape as he wrestles with the box. The top finally opens and he pulls out a birthday card, whose envelope is stiff and thick, meaning that it's expensive, another box with a sleek laptop on the cover, a plain black box that rattles faintly, and lots of books.

"Holy crap..." He breathes.

His uncle clears his throat from the kitchen and Otabek apologizes. He reads the card full of congratulations of his first medal at a local competition and how sorry his parents are for not being able to visit during the summer for the second year in a row. Otabek mourns a bit over that fact but smiles at the wobbly sketch of a potato with skates, the caption stating, _Your mom's great at drawing_.

_Please use the laptop to video chat with us!_ His mom cheerily writes in purple ink, _We bought you lots of English books and a pair of new skates!_ She goes onto say her wishes and a date to their next rocket launch he can live-stream if he's interested. 

He goes to bed happy, looking at the new books on his nightstand and falling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

He is twelve— thirteen in four months— when his coach takes him abroad for a summer camp, introducing him as the best male skater in Kazakhstan.

In Russia, he is _woefully_ average, maybe even slightly inadequate.

Everyone in the junior class has been blessed by talent and luck. They flex their legs and arms perfectly, faces relaxed and calm as Yakov watches them, his divorced wife yelling instructions over the music. He, for obvious reasons, gets picked on the most, teased for his less than stellar flexibility, his short stature all the more obvious among the much taller preteens. 

He is ripped apart and fed to the piranhas.

Otabek grinds his molars to prevent the tears from slipping when Lilia places a cold hand on his shoulder, explaining to his coach that he'll be getting moved to the novice class. The Russian flowing out of her mouth is soft, almost pitying.

His shame drips down his cheeks. He does not utter a sound.

She bends down, and he steels himself for a yelling, tensing up under her hands when she wipes his tears away. She says a few more words to his coach before leaving, her boots clicking on the floors.

He's the oldest in the novice class, and it makes him angry. The kids there immediately move away from him. Coach Denis coaxes him to make friends with some of the younger ones, but he learns how to school his face so the others stay away, not one bit apologetic when his coach sighs.

Although...there _is_ one kid who's also a loner like him, who spends his breaks on his own, chewing piroshkis and staring out the window with eyes too serious for his age. He's the best in the class, even _better_ than half the people in the junior class, but Otabek doesn't say a word.

When he returns to Almaty, he stops fooling around.

His dobak and belts go into a box in his room. Otabek stuffs his ballet gear in there too, for good measure. There's no right way to skate. While martial arts are about forms and the correct positions where emotions are kept controlled, figure skating is the opposite.

Otabek places sixth in his junior debut. He ends things with Coach Denis, knowing that he's outgrown what Almaty has to offer him in terms of figure skating. If he wants to make everyone proud, he can't stay in one place forever.

* * *

Otabek is thirteen— fourteen in eleven months— when his parents sweep him into their arms and happily give him a tour of their neighbourhood, pointing out the beaches and outdoor volleyball nets, the convertibles riding along side them, the racing tracks, the rockets and his parent's workplace in the distance and how they're happy that he's there with them. 

His new bedroom is bathed in sunlight for most of the day, and he starts to fold the t-shirts and shorts his parents bought for him, wondering about school and his English-speaking skill.

To his good fortune, he gets a tutor instead of enrolling in a nearby middle school, who gapes at how ahead he is for his age. When Otabek blushes and tells her that his parents are engineers, she laughs and praises him. It makes him proud, but it unsettles him a little. Sure he's good at maths (for the parts he can recall anyway), but what he really likes is figure skating, though it's giving him more misery than fun right now.

"Your growth spurt will level off when you're done with puberty, Otabek, don't worry!"

How wrong she was.

The time he spends on the ice start to become the time he spends falling and tripping. His rink-mates winces with sympathy when the coach lectures him. Otabek wants to explain why he's stumbling around, but his English is terrible and he never clicked with this rink. He decides to move north to Ann Arbor, promising his parents to visit when he can.

His new coach has half of her head shaved and Otabek stumbles through his introduction, nearly biting his tongue off. The other skater around his age, Leo, smiles with understanding at the long pauses he takes before responding. He tours Otabek around town, his coach driving, and points to all the landmarks. Otabek makes notes on his cellphone about visiting the Michigan Theater for the city's orchestra.

"Do you like classical music?" His coach asks, driving them to the mall after a competition, nearly swearing when her tire chains loses traction on the black ice.

"I do."

"That's a good change I like, Leo here likes the songs of his generation— damn, I make myself sound old," She laughs, sending them off with a kind threat to keep themselves bundled up. "Alright, have fun boys!"

"Bye, Coach!" Leo yells, jumping out of the car and running to the entrance. Otabek follows, nearly slipping in the slush as they stumble in, grabbing some food before waiting for their movie to start. Leo chats about his high school, going in depth about what happened at the cafeteria when he stops and stands up.

"JJ!"

That name is familiar. Otabek turns around and sees one of the competitors walking towards them with a grin, waving. "Hey, what are you guys doing here?"

"Coach allowed us to get fast food as a reward for placing," Leo explains as JJ's eyes shifts to Otabek, who recognizes when someone is sizing him up and keeps his face emotionless, "I thought you're driving back to Detroit with Celestino."

"He's at a restaurant catching up with some other coaches so he's letting me watch a movie before we hit the road. You're Otabek, right?"

Otabek nods.

"Doesn't talk much, does he?" JJ muses to Leo.

Otabek thanks the great invention of ear buds and slips them in, sipping his chocolate milk as JJ brings up a chair and continues to talk to Leo. 

  

"You're great, Otabek," His coach says with a smile, "But I think it's better if you go to better coaches. You've outgrown me."

Otabek doesn't know a thing about breakups but this situation certainly feels like one. Leo is skating in circles on the ice, looking back at them every few seconds as he sits on the bleachers. His ex-coach is recommending a few coaches around the area; he vaguely registers the name Cialdini and Leroy, nodding listlessly as he thinks about uprooting once more.

Leo's bottom lip wobbles when he crushes Otabek into a hug, making him promise to keep in touch. Otabek feels remorse curl around him when he passes security, waving at Leo one last time. 

He really, really enjoyed Ann Arbor.

 

JJ is standing in front of him, sizing him up, a smirk playing around his mouth.

Otabek wants to go back to bed.

"Thought I was great and chased me, didn't you?" JJ grins like he can read Otabek's mind, wiggling his fingers as a few rink mates look at them with interest, "I wouldn't blame you, if I could go to St. Petersburg and train on the same ice as Victor I would," Otabek starts to skate away, uninterested in people who can't keep their mouth closed as JJ yelps in indignation.

"Excuse me! I was talking to you!"

Otabek shoots him a tired glare, "I already said hello to you. I need to warm up."

The girls around them twitter like they're something shiny and coveted, giggling as Otabek turns his back and moves to skate away. This, unfortunately, doesn't happen. A hand clamps down on his shoulder.

"Let go," He slowly says to JJ, turning around to greet the angry scowl with a scowl of his own. "Please."

" _What is your problem?_ I just want to talk to you."

"Well, I don't." He shakes the hand off and immediately moves into figures, feeling the smooth ice below his blades. He zones out completely, when a hand nearly sweeps him off his feet. He spins and digs his toe picks in, looking up at JJ.

"'The Hero of Kazakhstan,'" JJ frowns, Otabek's title curling mockingly between his teeth and tongue. "You must think you're so great if you moved from coach to coach every single year. You should consider pulling the stick out of your ass, you're not friendly in any sense."

"Have I done something that made you upset? Because if I did, I'm sorry," He's angry now, irritation making his blood fizz as he glares, "I want to warm up now, can you let me go?"

JJ's grip tightens and he shoves Otabek back. 

Two things happen.

Otabek uses the momentum and slides inward, letting JJ stumble forward as his hold on Otabek's shoulder slackens. With the arm that's already stretched out, Otabek grabs it and shifts his center of gravity downward, putting his shoulder at the spot where JJ's arm connect to his body. He throws JJ's weight over his shoulder, yanking him up at the last minute so his head doesn't make contact with the ice.

It's over in a split second.

JJ stares up at him, eyes blinking in a daze as his pallor pales. Otabek bends down, letting JJ sit on the ice, "I don't know where you get the idea that I think of myself as a great skater, but you're _completely_ wrong. I still have many things to learn, and that's why I came here."

" _JJ?! JJ did you fall?!_ " A woman's shrill voice rings around the rink as Otabek stands up, paling as he sees his own coach running towards him.  

Otabek stays quiet as mortification keeps him rigid, waiting for the fingers to be pointed his way. He's going to be kicked out for sure. His taekwondo instructor drilled it into his head that he shouldn't use it to teach lessons. What will his parents say? _What will his aunt and uncle say?_

JJ laughs, jumping up in a fluid motion and brushing himself off, "Oh, I'm fine! I nearly collided with Otabek here and I slipped, but no worries!" He throws an arm around Otabek and brings him closer.

"Oh that's good," JJ's coach breathes a sigh of relief as Otabek gives him a side-eye. JJ winks at him. "Thank you, Otabek."

"N-No problem..."

 

Otabek doesn't know why, but JJ, his siblings, his Olympian parents, and their large St. Bernard seemed to have adopted him.

JJ puts their first meeting behind him and takes a very reluctant Otabek under his wing, who gets pulled along to family trips to their cabin, snowboarding day-trips and even flying him over to Banff in the summer to be a part of JJ's charity work. Otabek puts his foot down when JJ wants to go further west to Vancouver for sightseeing and pays for his own ticket.

"Hm...I want a tattoo," JJ remarks, strolling along Granville as Otabek rolls his eyes, knowing that his sunglasses prevent JJ from catching it. They've managed to run away from a very insistent group of girls who kept offering to be their tour guides. Otabek found the attention stifling, and bought the first sunglasses that caught his eye at one of the dime a dozen tourist shops in downtown. "Do you ever want one?"

"Seems cool."

"I want a Canadian flag! Do you think having my own initials is too much?"

"Whatever floats your boat."

"Awesome! I can't wait till I'm legal!" He pushes down his sunglasses, grumbling about his bangs and how hot the city is during the day time. Otabek mildly agrees— they came in the middle of a heat wave after all. And the shades the tall buildings can only offer so much relief. "Geez, I _really_ want to cut my hair, it's getting long."

"I can wait for you."

He gets pulled into a barber shop, content with the air conditioning blasting as JJ hops into a chair and starts to explain, complete with large arm gestures, the vision he sees for his hair. Jean-Jacques Leroy is like a too bright sun sometimes, but it's nice to bask under the warmth when the winters are cold in Canada. He can sort of see why he has a lot of fans.

Otabek nearly jumps out of his seat when JJ pops up in front of him, a manic grin stretched ear to ear. 

"Whatever you're thinking of, no."

"I haven't even said anything yet!"

"No."

"Do you want to get a haircut too?" JJ asks anyway, because Otabek lets him talk over him and eventually agrees if his ideas are not too crazy. This request seems to be one of the more reasonable ones...and his hair _is_ getting long now that he runs a hand through it. 

"Okay."

They somehow come out with matching undercuts, JJ laughing as he facetimes his parents and Otabek wondering if he can hide between the mattresses as the Leroys coo over how cute they are. The traitor updates them with their flights back home and says good night, turning to him with an apologetic grin.

"I mean you look good with it. Really. Scout's honour."

Otabek's not impressed, "You never took scouts," He tries to shake JJ off as he clings to him, waxing poetics about what he needs to do to gain the trust of his favourite best friend, rink-mate, and gym buddy back. He gives a half smile though, to show that he doesn't mind it that much in the end.

"Oh, before I forget, we need to take you shopping," JJ gestures to his jeans and t-shirts folded in his luggage.

"Why?" 

"You're a fashion disaster."

"Excuse me?" The last time Otabek checked, he saw some teenagers their age walking around with what he wore and didn't get any strange looks. He's _definitely_ not a fashion disaster.

"Yeah, I got style. _JJ style_."

He cringes at JJ's newfound obsession, a trademark pose, "What's wrong with the way I wear clothes?"

"Your non-training clothes are all either t-shirts or sweaters from NASA. Like, okay, I get you like space exploration, but there's more to life than rockets and moon landings," Otabek struggles to keep his smile from blooming too widely as JJ continues. "You're kind of starting to get muscles, and I think you can pull a bomber or leather jacket off—" JJ suddenly gasp, "— _DUDE_ WE CAN TOTALLY MATCH! I HAVE A LEATHER JACKET AT HOME, TOO!"

"I think the haircuts are enough— JJ what are you doing?" 

JJ strips off his basketball shorts in one go, snatching his jeans and a thin long sleeve, pointing at him, "The night is still young! I think the closest mall is Pacific Center and I'm going to make you look awesome!"

* * *

He is fifteen— sixteen in four months— when he feels like he has outgrown his coach again. He thinks about where he can go to next when it hits him that he hasn't flown back home for years.

This time, he books a ticket to Almaty with the promise that Coach Denis will come out of retirement for him. His medals are stuffed between his hoodies and cases of maple cookies JJ insists he brings back with him. The Leroys drive him to the airport and Otabek thanks them from the bottom of his heart, hugging each of them. Boof, the St. Bernard, whimpers when Otabek rubs his ears fondly.

JJ nearly chokes him as he blubbers, "I'll see you in the senior circuit, okay? Say hi to Leo for me for your layover." He's flying down to Detroit to write SATs (his parents had insisted he writes them) and meet up with Leo for a few hours before boarding the airplane again.

Otabek hugs him back and smiles into his shoulder, "Of course."

 

He lands early in Almaty for some strange reason, and he takes a taxi to his aunt's and uncle's house in the suburbs, sweating under his leather jacket and baseball cap as he sneaked away from the press. He has duties, but the press can wait a little longer.

The gate is already open, and there's a sleek sports motorcycle parked outside, paint gloss so shiny it blinds him when he steps closer to admire it.

When he walks into the house, Sacha immediately latches onto his leg and meows. He bends down to give her a rub before she takes off towards a man sitting on the couch, her tail waving in the air.

The man stares back at him, expecting Otabek to freak out by his two different coloured eyes, holding a delicate set of his aunt's favourite yellow teacup and saucer, his desert cameo bearing three stars and two stripes on his uniform.

"Good afternoon," The man greets, voice pleasantly pitched.

Otabek stiffens slightly, releasing his luggage so it stands upright, "Good afternoon...Colonel?"

"Don't mind me, I'm just waiting for your aunt," The colonel takes a sip of tea. "I'm selling the motorcycle outside, you see. She told me it's four years' worth of birthday presents for a certain Hero of Kazakhstan, who so happens to be flying home from Detroit and landed early, judging from the circumstances before me."

"Oh," He hears his aunt calling his name from the kitchen, telling him to make himself comfortable as she brings out some food. It's hard to keep eye contact with the stranger, he doesn't know which eye to look at, switching from the very striking grey blue and the warm brown, "Y-Yes."

"Quiet, aren't you? Nothing like your mother."

Otabek tries to recall the limited video calls he had with his parents; he doesn't remember them talking about a member of the army who are family friends with them. His eyes darts to the flash of skin on the colonel, hands splotched with burn marks, "Do you know her, sir?"

"Oh yes, quite well, in fact." He says all of this as if a grown man is asking him what colour the sky is, straight forward and slightly mocking. "I supported her decision to study at MIT and told her to consider a masters. Then she met your father," The colonel scowls, clearly not a fan of his dad. He leans forward and frowns, "You _do_ look a lot like him..."

"Sorry," He says, even though it's out of his control to shape what genetic make up he has into a face that would please the stranger. He looks at the beret sitting on top of his head, "You're part of the United Nations?"

"Glad you can read. You didn't fool around abroad, then."

He feels a prickle of irritation, "I went abroad to skate, not to fool around."

Sacha jumps onto the man's lap as he rubs her ears, "I'm simply envious of how lucky you are. Being the best skater in this country means all the state sponsorship goes to you. You get decent media coverage here too, and everyone loves you. The stories they publish about us are more gruesome and not suited for children, you, however," The man looks up. "You're an inspiration."

Then he throws Otabek a set of keys, watching him fumble, "That's for the motorcycle," He lets Sacha down from his lap and stands up, making a bee line for his boots. "My ride is thirty minutes early, I'm afraid I can't stay."

Otabek follows him to the gate, bewildered at the entire situation, "Where are you going?"

"Haiti. Goodbye, Otabek," The colonel gives a salute and a smile that suggests he's hiding more than one secret with him. A Jeep outside honks impatiently, and the man leaves, jumping into the passenger's seat. 

His aunt runs up to the front, smelling of sweets as she sighs, leaning against the iron gate. The Jeep turns a corner and vanishes, "He left, didn't he?" She hugs his middle, "Welcome home."

"Thanks..." He points to the motorcycle, "Is this a gift?"

"Oh yes! Your uncle was selling it and I wanted to buy it off from him, but he said he'll give it to you for free since he's never home."

" _Uncle?_ "

"He's our older brother," His aunt smiles like Otabek hasn't been metaphorically run over by a freight train a few seconds ago, "Ruslan's always been a bit of a grump and had a flare for dramatics your father didn't like. He came home last week but a call came up for him so it's a good thing you came home early!" 

"How long was his last mission?"

"...Very long. He came home to see you when you were born, but left immediately right after," She then scowls, pushing him into the house. "Enough about him gallivanting off. Were you eating properly in Canada? You look thin, do you want some food?"

Otabek gets a spread of his favourite meals, plus a chocolate cake with homemade icing. He allows himself seconds of everything and greets his uncle when he comes home with Zarina in tow for summer break.

They catch up, eat some of the maple cookies, and ooh and aah over the pictures he took of Canada. He talks for so long that his mouth becomes parched, Kazakh tumbling past his lips as he tries to reassure his uncle he doesn't need to sleep this early.

Eventually, even Zarina, a perpetual night owl, starts to sway in her seat. His aunt orders everyone off to bed and Otabek slinks into his old bedroom, stretching out like a starfish as his limbs stick out the mattress.

_Being the best skater in this country means all the state sponsorship goes to you._

_I'm simply envious of how lucky you are._

It was true that he got lucky in Almaty, but when put against skaters from other countries, he's average.

Otabek does what his hometown expects him to do over the next few weeks, sitting down with reporters, visiting his old rink and indulging several children and their parents with pictures, meeting with his sponsors over lunch, and agreeing to more pictures whenever his name is called. He finally meets with Coach Denis after he finishes being prodded by the public in a cafe, where they reminisce the first time they met each other.

"—and I was right, wasn't I?" He beams over coffee as Otabek tries to smooth his eyebrows from a frown. The cafe is bustling with people and he can see some cellphones being directed discreetly in his direction, "Look at you!" 

"I have that to thank you for."

"Oh you silly boy, that's nonsense! Talent is all around us, it's the effort and determination that makes a winner. And you've certainly done that," When Otabek offers a meek smile, his coach laces his hands under his chin, "...You always grew quieter the more people are present, I see that hasn't changed."

"It feels...strange to be back home," Strange to wake up in his childhood bed, going down the spiraling set of stairs for breakfast instead of shuffling to his dorm kitchen to plug his blender into the wall socket. Strange to hear his name from people he's never met when he blended in perfectly with the crowd in America and Canada. Strange to see his old rink, so small compared to the ones in Orlando, Ann Arbor, and Toronto.

"Of course, you're still wondering what the world has to offer," Coach Denis turns to look at an approaching reporter and raises a hand, waving them away. "You don't look too happy to be home, though."

"Coming back here is a sobering experience," Otabek clarifies, "...I've been blessed with the opportunities given to me."

Denis nods, wisps of grey hair falling into his bespectacled eyes, "I wouldn't want to give anyone else the same opportunities," He takes a sip of his coffee and looks out the window, blue skies stretching above them with no clouds in sight, "...What a sight it would be if you could stand on top of the world, Otabek.... What a sight."

He doesn't tell his coach that what he wants more than standing on top of the world is to meet the blond boy from Yakov's summer camp and skate with him.

* * *

Otabek is sixteen— seventeen in three months— when he's put under a summer training camp in Seoul in preparation for his senior debut.

( _He doesn't let himself get soft in Almaty, he thinks about that summer camp in Russia and of Lilia's hand on his small shoulders_ )

It's humid. It's hot. It's his clothes sticking uncomfortably on his bare skin, a sea of parasols and visor hats bobbing along the sidewalks that reminds him of the turbulence on the plane.

Seung-gil extends a diplomatic hand as their coaches introduce each other. Otabek knows Denis is trying to get him friendly with the older skaters, but he's always been somewhat of a loner. The only people not related to his coaching team or family in his contacts are JJ and Leo, who expressed their excitement that he's finally joining the senior circuit at Worlds by giving his official twitter account he never uses many shoutouts. 

Mostly, he keeps to himself during practice, having an advantage of not knowing Korean and relying on Seung-gil's coach for translations, and even with that, the intent behind words often becomes muddled. Otabek's content with it, and continues to listen to his Ravel, Sibelius, and Dvorak.

"I'll spot you if you'll do the same to me," Seung-gil says as he catches Otabek staring at the machines in the gym. There's a monsoon outside. Otabek avoided the brunt of the rain, but his hair is plastered to his head and he doesn't like the way it makes him look like a drowned rodent. He should get it cut soon.

"Sure."

Somehow, after that, Seung-gil starts to stick by his side, a quiet presence during meal times and gym sessions. Zarina prompts him over text to try to make friends with the other skaters. Otabek refuses.

JJ calls him one day and he cradles his phone between his shoulder and ear as he unties his laces, "Hello."

"Otabek! How's Seoul?"

"It's good."

A dramatic wail, "You go back to your home rink for one year and you act this cold to me?" JJ whines, inevitably catching the attention of Seung-gil, who looked like Otabek has offered to squirt lemon juice into his eyes or something. "Can't I just say hi to my old rink mate?" 

"Hi."

A sigh, "Okay, you're probably busy and too polite to say otherwise. I got a new phone so you might want to consider teaching your phone this number. I'll see you soon! _Bonne journeé!_ "

The call ends. Otabek strips down and tugs on his pale yellow team Kazakh sweatpants that goes with his teal t-shirt. Seung-gil turns to him, "I can't help but overhear—" _No offence taken, JJ has a tendency to forget what an inside voice means_ , "—your call just now. Was that Leroy?"

"Yes, he's an old rink-mate."

Seung-gil's eyebrows shoots up to his hairline, "I didn't know he has an underclassman entering the Grand Prix this year."

Otabek takes in the fact that Seung-gil didn't listen to a single word Coach Park had said when they were introduced nearly a month ago. "I've been in Almaty for the past year," He explains, "Are you on friendly terms with him?"

"I want to punch him. One time he did that signature pose of his and nearly knocked my coach's coffee from her hands."

He chokes on his protein bar as they walk out of the rink and towards the dorms, "He asked for my help for that pose."

"He's so loud," Seung-gil grumbles.

"You don't know loud until he belts High School Musical songs in the communal showers for morning practice."

Seung-gil makes a face and ask for more misadventures. Otabek recounts the tamer ones, knowing that JJ won't mind at all if he told them. The topic eventually drifts from JJ to his first time meeting him, ("I flipped him on the ice." "Shoulder throw?" "Yes." "You took taekwondo?" "As a child." "Me too."), what Almaty is like, and the types of music he listens to. 

When he quietly says he doesn't listen to the radio much for pop songs and shows his playlist of classical music, Seung-gil does too, prompting him on who his favourite composers are.

They say goodbye to each other after that with promises to see each other soon.

 

The bronze medal adds more weight and responsibility around his neck.

His coach tries to get him to smile, but he only manages to plaster it onto his face for the initial photos before the pain in his left foot becomes too unbearable. He had torn off a toenail in the middle of skating and the people in the first aid room yelped when he hobbled inside, blood trailing after him. The camera flashes makes him temporarily blind, but he sneaks a look on his right to Victor, all smiles as they start the conference.

His attention starts to drift off when someone from CBC sports raises up her hand, and the microphone gets passed to her. "For the bronze medalist; how do you feel after winning bronze at your senior debut considering that you took a year longer in the junior circuit?"

Otabek tugs the microphone to his mouth level, "I made the decision to take a year longer to polish up my skills. It certainly paid off today, and I couldn't be any happier."

The microphone gets passed across the room, and he relaxes in his seat as Chris smiles flirtatiously at the next reporter, answering his question. Victor is playing with his lanyard, looking worn out. The conference finishes after thirty minutes, and Otabek sticks around the banquet long enough to say hello and thank you to his sponsors before leaving to explore.

When he returns to Almaty, he receives a letter with an address. It's signed from the colonel, so he makes the trip to the city, slightly wary, and gapes when he walks into a completely empty apartment void of furniture. He flinches when he peers into the kitchen.

A soldier snaps a salute and thrusts an envelope at him, a bouquet in her arms as Otabek, baffled, reads the letter.

_Dear nephew,_  
_Congratulations on your senior debut. Your mother (and father) and I decided that the commute from your aunt's and uncle's to the rink is quite tiresome, not to mention that you'll be paying more for gas, so we bought you an apartment. My subordinate is the only one aside from me who knows your address. Rest assured, she will not reveal this apartment to the press._  
_Major General Aronov  
_ _P.S. Yes, I got promoted.  
_ _P.S.S. Beat that Victor Somethingforov._

"Congratulations on your bronze medal," The soldier chirps, grinning as she offers the flowers, "The Major General couldn't be any prouder."

"I-Is that so?"

"He has a tough outer shell like a crab, but he's a soft person on the inside, sir. Is there anything you need before I leave?"

Otabek declines the offer, still perplexed as his uncle's subordinate gives him a salutes. He explores the spacious apartment, shaking his head as a smile blooms.

* * *

He is eighteen— turning nineteen in ten months— when he meets JJ again.

He turns down the offer to eat with him. He hasn't been to Barcelona before so he wants to explore on his own. JJ can always catch up with him during breakfast the following morning.

(Yuri didn't seem to recognize him anyway)

The shop keeper offers him a second helmet, and he ponders on whether he should take it when his phone starts to blow up from notifications, all from Yuri's Angels.

He bites his lip, thinking.

Otabek grabs the helmet, "Thank you," He hastily says, and checks the location embedded in the twitter update. His eyebrows shoots up at the close approximation and he straddles the rental bike, shoving on his sunglasses. The bike thrums under him as he turns off his alerts, knowing that his phone is going to blow up even more in the next few hours. 

Coach Denis offhandedly mentions how out of character it was for him to be so spontaneous at breakfast the next morning. Otabek stares at his fruit salad as his choreographer starts chuckling.

 

He's lounging on his bed, clothes unpacked and hung in his closet when the text comes to his phone. His heart leaps into his mouth when he realizes who it's from.

Yuri: do you want to come to japan with me

Yuri: katsudon and victor invited me for a visit

Yuri: you've never been there right? hasetsu at least, i know you've been to yoyogi for worlds last year

Otabek looks up from his phone, contemplating just a little. 

He's technically done with the season, and Denis won't text him to come to the rink until mid May, so really, he has about two months of being a potato. Going to Hasetsu would be nice...it would put some distance between him and Almaty for now.

Yuri: sorry i didn't think of your plans. you don't have to come.

_No_ , Otabek types, _it's fine, I'll come. Which airport should I fly into?_

Yuri's answer is immediate. Otabek makes the necessary phone calls to his parents, Zarina, his aunt and uncle, and his coaching team, pulling a suitcase out of his closet as he books a flight.

When he first steps into Ice Castle Hasetsu, a set of triplets gasp and furiously starts jabbering in a smattering of English and Japanese. Otabek is impressed, considering that he can more or less understand them and that they must only be seven or eight at most. Yuri turns to him, "These are Yuuko's kids, who's friends with Katsudon."

Otabek says hello.

"Mister, why is your face always scowly?"

Otabek should be offended by the girl's question, but instead, he laughs at how appalled Yuri looks right now. 

"Listen you brats, you don't ask the Kazakh champion why he always has a scowl—"

"You look better when you smile!"

"Yea! You look very happy!"

"More handsome!"

"Way more handsome!"

Otabek finds them cute, curling his lips in a semi amused smile. 

The one in a purple shirt frowns, "No, you smile better with Nii-chan."

Yuri, for some reason, turns an interesting shade of pink. Otabek switches to Russian and asks what's bothering him, who gets a roll of his eyes as an answer and leads him inside the rink. Yuuri and Victor are already there, doing warm up circles as Otabek tugs his skates on, amused that he's skating on his time off. 

He admires Victor the skater, a genius in his own rights, someone Otabek wants to be.

When his eyes strays to Yuri's form as he takes a water break and sheds his jersey, he thinks about how frightening Yuri will be in a couple of years when his growth spurt has stopped and he'll be able to stun the world with his presence.

Geniuses are frightening.

And Otabek knows all about geniuses. He grew up surrounded by them in the ballet studio, on ice, and in summer camps.

He leans against the barrier, the gears already churning in his head, looking forward to next season where the only Yuri in the senior bracket is the representative from Russia.

 

"You spelled a lot of words wrong," Otabek hands Yuri back his essay, "but otherwise I think it's fine." It's muggy this evening and they're all staying indoors to avoid the heavy rain. He and Yuri have taken over a table in the dining area, going over his homework since Otabek is more helpful than Victor, or so Yuri says.

"Really? You're not going easy on me are you?" Yuuri's mom slides them some dessert, skipping away merrily when Otabek feebly says thank you in his broken Japanese.

He assumes that part of the reason why Yuri is always baring his teeth is because he looks too young to be taken seriously as a sixteen year old. "Of course not, I'm giving you my honest opinion."

Yuri beams at him, "Thanks, Beka!"

Otabek stops chewing the dango in his mouth.

"I— I mean!— I'm sorry! Sorry! That just came out of my mouth!"

He shrugs and offers Yuri a dango, who turns pink from embarrassment, "Don't worry about it, Beka's fine."

"Y-You don't mind?"

He places his chin in his hands, giving him a quick smile, "Should I call you Yurio or Yura?"

An immediate scowl, "Don't call me Yurio."

"Okay, Yura." 

They talk about their future plans, Yuri expressing a tad of concern for Yakov, "He's getting pretty old, and he keeps grumbling about his arthritis. Last week he pulled a muscle and Mila and Georgi had to push him off the ice so Lilia can drive him to the doctor's."

"If Yakov were to retire would you go under Victor then?" He asks, curious. They used to be rink mates after all, and if Yuuri's gold in Worlds, Four Continents, and Japan Nationals were anything to prove himself by, it's that Victor has made his mark as a good coach.

Yuri gives Otabek a blank look, "Why would I torture myself with looking at them making gross kissy faces at each other all day long?"

"Maybe it'll happen to you one day." 

Yurio scoffs, "As if! I'm not like Mila, who spends her off days going on dates!" He shoves his phone at Otabek's face, a red headed girl grinning as she hangs an arm around Yuri. After three seconds, it's removed, "Have you been in one?"

"No, I don't have time," Yuri's eyes are shiny and wide, so he sighs and tries to sort out his thoughts, "There aren't many skaters representing my country, so when talent comes along every few or so years, you hold the country's weight and pride onto your shoulders. I want to do my best, not only for my people, but for my family who supported me." He takes a dango stick and draws loops in the leftover sauce, "That's why until now, I've been intent on chasing for gold."

"Are there skaters in your family?"

"No," Otabek laughs, a little bitterly this time, "They're all in STEM except for one."

"...Does it ever make you feel out of sorts?" 

"From time to time since no one could relate to me," He starts to scrawl one of the equations on Yuri's calculus homework into the sauce, "I was envious of how easily you popped an arabesque when we were in the novice class." 

Yuri blinks, "Oh yeah, I remember someone transferring in near the beginning of the summer."

"That was me."

"Do you still do ballet then?"

"No, I don't have that childlike flexibility anymore. Even spins are hard to do when I don't take half an hour to loosen every muscle carefully."

The quiet environment of the dining room obviously shatters when Yuuri and Victor stumble in, wet and dripping from the rain as they carry bags of groceries with them. Otabek starts to clear the table for something to do, nodding his hello to Victor when he sits across them and starts to rile Yuri up.

A towel lands on Victor's head, Yuuri chiding, "Stop teasing him, Vitya."

Victor pounces on him instead, "Do you always look moody, Otabek? You could do with a smile every now and then, right?"

Yuri growls in his place, "Piss off, stupid! You're just jealous he has more hair than you!"

When Victor puffs up like an offended blowfish, Yuuri mumbles a quiet apology to him. Otabek shoots him a wry smile and lets Yuri and Victor fight it out, the rain providing a soothing backdrop in place of Almaty's too stagnant summers.

It's peaceful here, he likes it.

 

"Want some?"

"Mm," Otabek chews the takoyaki. "It's good."

The smile that lit up Yuri's face almost makes Otabek not regret going over his daily calorie limit as they stroll through a festival at one of the many shrines. They've lost Yuuri and Victor some time ago, and are now wandering on their own, Yuri in a light green yukata that compliments his eyes and Otabek in a dark blue one, conscious of how battered his feet are in the wooden sandals— geta, as Yuuri had told him earlier— Hiroko provided.

There's surely a large neon sign pointing to them screaming 'tourist!', but the townspeople paid them no extra attention aside from polite smiles if they're buying food. Yuri had latched onto a tiger mask the first minute they broke away from the engaged couple, and it's now tied around his head, swept to the side so he can pop more takoyaki in his mouth.

"Caramel apples!" Yuri points before dashing away. Otabek follows him slowly, not even taking seven steps forward when he comes back grinning from ear to ear, handing him one as they continue their stroll.

"You're excited." 

"Only because I don't have Yakov or Lilia breathing over my neck and telling me what I can or cannot eat," His caramel apple disappears in five swift bites; Otabek remembers being his age, ravenous but chained down by the strict diet his nutritionist had set. "Plus, you're here!"

The caramel makes his lips sticky, a ghost of a smile threatening to materialize, "I didn't know you liked me that much." 

"You're way better than Katsudon and the old geezer."

"Ah, so you only like me because I'm not them, I'm hurt."

"No, no! You're cool!" Yuri panics, arms flailing. He stops when a full blown grin spreads on Otabek's face. "Wait, you were teasing me?"

"Believe it or not, I'm not always stoic like the press says," That comment gets him a playful shove on the shoulder, and they continue strolling around until they've wandered off to a small stream next to the shrine with a bridge surprisingly devoid of people.

Yuri sits on the bridge's railing, wincing and rubbing his legs, "I hate growing pains."

"It'll go away. I suffered through them too."

"You're not _that_ tall."

Otabek pretends to huff, looking away, "Cheeky." The light from the faraway lanterns barely reach the water below them, but he tries to make out if there's any fish anyway, giving Yuri time to rest as he peers past weeds and the occasional frog. A woman's clear voice announces something too fast for their ears to catch, so they start to head back, pausing when the telltale whistles of fireworks interrupts the cicadas.

"Oh!"

Otabek follows the clack of Yuri's sandals as he runs back to the bridge to get a clear view, purples, oranges, greens and reds bursting. There's sweat still pooling around where the yukata brushes against his neck, but he stretches his arms out and leans on the railing, looking up.

When the spectacle ends, he brings his arms back near him and moves, looking over his shoulder, "Let's go, I'm sure they're waiting for us."

Yuri, unusually quiet, nods.

He lies on his futon that night, listening to the faint breeze blowing through the trees outside and a faint snoring coming from one of the rooms down the hall, trying not to overthink but failing when his traitorous brain drifts off to Yuri. _No, no, no._ They're friends. Capital F. 

Friends.

He flips himself around and tries to suffocate himself with his pillow, not sleeping a wink when the sun starts to rise and soft patters of feet start to shuffle around. Otabek takes his time shaving and brushing his hair into a presentable mess, throwing shorts and a blue t-shirt on his body before heading down the hall.

When he walks into the room, Yuri is pink from cursing at Victor in Russian, stopping mid way to greet him before throwing himself back into the insults, something about how he's going to tower over Victor when he finishes growing. As the fight dwindles down, Victor still smirking like a cat who ate the canary, Yuri busies himself with slurping his udon noodles.

Otabek copies him for lack of anything to do.

"Oh, Beka," He whips his head around at his name, apologizing when Yuuri accidentally gets some broth droplets splattered on his glasses, "Do you always use classical music for your programs?"

"Yes."

"Why? Why not lyrical songs?"

"I sometimes use arias, even choral arrangements if I find a good one," From across him, Victor is smiling at him for some reason and it's giving him the heebie jeebies. "Is there something wrong with my music selection?"

"Do you listen to the radio?" Victor slides into the conversation, shooting everyone facing him a beaming smile, "Because it seems to me that you've never heard of Bruno Mars—"

"Piss off Victor, he's talking to me!"

"Who's Bruno Mars?"

The table stops chewing; Otabek braces himself for the yelling that will ensue when the information processes in their minds. Even Yuuri is gaping at him a little.

" _Do you live under a rock?_ "

He decides his safest bet is to play dumb, "I live in Almaty."

Yuri forces him to listen to four hours' worth of music that morning as Otabek looks over his homework, hissing under his breath about how disgusted he is that no one took pity on him. He even goes out of his way to compile a song list to Otabek, threatening to shave his head if he doesn't listen 

Otabek tries to ignore the nauseating feeling in his stomach as a rush of happiness flows through him. It's a one of a kind sensation; half dread and half joy.

His phone just so happen to ring when JJ calls that Yuri snatches it away from his hands, yelling about how depraved Otabek was of good music and _why didn't you teach him a few things you shitface?_

 

"So what are your plans?" His mother says after the conversation lulls. It's night time in Orlando, and his parents just came home, tired but insistent they talk to him, "I know you won bronze in Worlds."

"What do you mean?" His luggage is still packed in the corner of his room from Hasetsu. He himself is suffering from jet lag, and would rather much prefer to go to sleep instead. His phone lights up from Yuri's texts, distracting him every now and then.

"You're nearly nineteen, are you going to take another gap year before going to university?"

"I..." Otabek trails off, sitting up straighter in his chair as his father joins, "Where did this come from?"

"You wrote your SATs did you not?"

"I did," His marks were okay, not the worst but clearly not the best since he was also in the middle of switching coaches and moving from Ann Arbor to Toronto, "I didn't apply to any universities because I had to prepare for my senior debut."

His parents share a look, "Oh, are you going to apply this year then?"

"The Olympics are in a little over a year, I've been told that I'm going to be representing Kazakhstan there. I can't go to university now." He never intended of going to university in the first place, he thought his parents understood. The thought of sitting in a classroom for six of more hours, being so far away from the rink, made his throat dry.

"...I think," His father cuts in, "you should consider a bachelors degree at least. It's valuable nowadays. I don't want you to be reduced to working blue collared jobs. Higher education is important."

"Not now."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm in a middle of a preparing for my upcoming season, I barely have any time to do anything else other than train. Being an athlete is a full time job."

"Do you think you can just live through sponsorships? What happens when they run out?" His mom cuts in, shouldering his father aside, "I read up some articles on figure skating. It's a short lived career, Otabek. You have to start thinking on what you want to do when you quit."

That statement feels like a barb digging into his skin. He can't even think of retiring right now, especially with Victor and Yuuri officially retiring from competitive skating. To him, there wasn't even a life before skating. Skating was his one constant in life whenever he uprooted himself and moved from apartment to apartment. 

He listens to what his parents have to say, nails digging into his palms below his table where they can't see his hands, nodding along to appease them just this once.

He bargains with them. He'll retire when he gets gold in every competition.

His parents refuse. Otabek becomes snappy. They go back and forth until his father orders him to think about his decision, ending the call there. He's left staring at his own reflection until the laptop shuts off to conserve power, his anger bubbling under his skin.

Otabek grabs his keys and motorcycle helmet, running out of the apartment.

 

"You can just ignore them," JJ says over the phone as Otabek keeps on running on the treadmill. Yuri's now cursing at him over text, wondering why he hasn't replied. "I'd do that if my parents told me I have to quit."

"Your parents were Olympians, mine are engineers. They don't understand," He's still angry, the motorcycle ride did not calm him down in the slightest as he broke the speed limit many times. He considered doing a drop in martial arts session at his gym but didn't want the hassle of reporters taking pictures, so he resigned himself to running his anger out, "I'm angry. Furious."

"Yeah, I can tell. You're never this chatty."

"JJ."

"Sorry, sorry. So what did you tell them?"

"I told them I'm going to win gold in every competition first before retiring."

"And?"

"They said no of course!" He growls, jabbing the screen to increase the speed. "They think that figure skating is just a hobby of mine!"

"Jesus, did you just yell at me? Calm down, Otabek, your parents just don't understand."

"That's what I said before," Frustration is barely concealed, and he bites his lip before continuing, "I'm so— I'm just so pissed!" They weren't there for most of his childhood anyway, they didn't have the right to tell him what to do. Part of him says that he should respect his parent's wishes because they did fund his skating, but he's the one living his life— not them. "They barely visited me back when I was in Almaty."

"...Yeah but that was so they could support you, right? They left you with your relatives and worked mad hours in hopes that you'll have a better life in the future. I agree they don't understand you, but they want what's best for you."

" _I know what's best for me, not them._ "

JJ becomes strangely quiet on the other side, "...I'm going to hang up, I know you're just really upset right now and want to talk, but you're just picking a fight with everything I say."

"Yeah okay," Otabek taps his phone, sweat running down his forehead because he knows it's true. He let his anger get the best of him again. "Sorry."

"S'okay. Feel better, man."

 

He fibs about misplacing his phone days later when the anger had subsided and he's able to formulate sentences that doesn't sound passive aggressive. Yuri seems to believe it, and asks if he has an Instagram account so he can tag him in his pictures. Otabek says no, and gets an earful about how Yuri wants to pick a fight with JJ again for not showing him the wondrous side of the internet (such as cat and miniature cooking videos where they make tiny food).

It's the one thing that's normal in Otabek's life right now, and he clings to it desperately as he ignores his parent's calls. 

  

" _What the fuck— do you know what time it is, Beka?!_ "

He does everything he can to keep his voice level as he stares at his watch. 3AM. The third number. He got bronze in the GPF. Third place. "I'm at Sheremetyevo.... Can I stay with you for two weeks?"

Yuri opens the door to his apartment when Otabek knocks, snow saturated in his hair as they both look at each other. Sasha the cat sniffs his boots before mewing lightly and padding off further into the apartment. It's not messy by any means, but it's clear that someone lives here, unlike Otabek's empty apartment.

Yuri, much taller with longer hair, spreads his arms open wordlessly.

The tears he's been holding out for weeks comes up to his eyes, the colonel's words mixing in with the venom present in his father's voice. His head fits between Yuri's neck now, and he feels hands rubbing his shoulders, arm circling his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

"You'll be okay," Yuri says in his ear, and Otabek gets tugged to a bed— a messy looking one, but a bed nonetheless. He lets Yuri unravel his scarf and unzip his jacket. A pair of headphones goes over his ears, the first lulling notes of Satie's Gymnopédie no. 1 calming him. Yuri slowly moves forward until Otabek can see the blue speckles in his green eyes, mouth inches from his own when he stops.

"Go sleep, I'll make soup," A blanket is pulled up to him and Yuri shuts the door closed, padding away.

Otabek groggily wonders why Yuri had stopped, eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion finally catches up to him. 

 

"So what happened to your ankle?" Otabek asks when he wakes up at two in the afternoon just in time to catch Sasha from jumping onto the kitchen counter. Yuri turns to look at him, turning back when he sees that Otabek hasn't gotten scratched by his pet.

The ankle in question is in a brace, and there's a large container of painkillers, the heavy duty ones, near a water purifier.

"What does it look like? I twisted it obviously," Yuri grits his teeth, stirring the borscht a little too passionately. Sasha tries to wiggle out of her captor's hold, pink tongue flicking out. "And right before the Russian Nationals too."

"Will you be better in time for Euros and Worlds?"

Yuri tells him what the doctor told him in a dead voice. "I'm out for the rest of the season," Otabek gets pushed to the bar counter facing the kitchen area, a bowl in front of him as he makes himself comfortable. Yuri is leaning against the stove, blond hair pulled up into a loose bun and an angry scowl fixed on his face as he helps himself to his soup.

He's not suave like JJ is when it comes to potential romantic interests and has no clue to how approach this matter at all. Otabek stirs his portion, steam lazily making its way to warm his face when he decides to be as straight forward as possible, "Yuri, were you going to kiss me?" 

The blond chokes, coughing as he slams his bowl down, spoon rattling. Otabek watches his face turn splotchy and red, trying to make eye contact with Yuri but failing. 

" _The hell?_ I told you about my ankle and—"

"I don't want you to think you're obligated to go that far to comfort me. I value our friendship."

_Bang_.

He looks up sharply at the noise.

Yuri had slammed the metal ladle against the sink, baring his teeth as his voice escalates from quiet to a roar, "Did you just say what I thought I heard? You thought that I was going to kiss you because I felt bad for you? _Because I PITIED you?!_ "Otabek tries to open his mouth, but the ladle bangs against the sink again. Sasha hisses and runs into Yuri's bedroom. "No! Let me talk! You're an idiot if you think that I pity you! A bronze medal is not something to be crying over!"

"But—"

"NO BUTS!" A finger is pointed to his face, and he shrinks. "Your parents aren't skaters, they don't know what a bronze means. They don't know how we gave up our lives to perform on the ice! THAT'S BETTER THAN WHAT YOU GOT LAST YEAR GOD DAMN IT! THIS IS NOT THE END OF YOUR CAREER! THERE'S STILL THE FOUR CONTINENTS AND WORLDS!"

"Yes, but—"

"Yeah sure your parents supported you in the beginning but you can support yourself just fine now, can't you?! You don't have to listen to them!"

"Yes—"

"And how _dare_ you think I'm comforting you! Do you think I go up to Mila and offer her a kiss whenever she comes to the rink after a bad date? Are you _fucking_ with me?! WE ONLY OFFER HUGS. NOT KISSES!"

"Yuri—"

"YOU'RE AN IDIOT OTABEK!"

"YURI!"

"WHAT?!" Yuri yells, breathing hard.

He snaps his head up to look him in the eye, "I like you, okay?! I didn't want a kiss because it would lead to false hopes!"

Yuri turns beet red, fumbling for words, "Wha—Newsflash! I like you too!"

" _What_ —"

"I told you already— _were you even listening?!_ I don't offer just anyone kisses! You have to be pretty damn special!" Yuri slumps, letting go of the ladle and leaning against his sink, head in hands as he rakes his bangs back. "How can you be so good at skating but so bad with feelings you emotionally constipated idiot?" 

Otabek opens his mouth several times, floundering like a fish on land as Yuri looks at him, mouth pressed into a wary line.

"...Okay."

"Okay," Yuri huffs, untying his apron and stomping towards the bathroom. "Go eat your soup, I'm going to shower."

He doesn't even taste the soup Yuri had prepared just for him, twitchy as he washes the bowl in the sink. Yuri takes his sweet time in the shower and Otabek is sitting rigidly on the edge of his couch when he stomps out, hair half wet. He puts his feet up on his coffee table and turns on the TV, channel surfing as Otabek continues to sweat.

"...I wasn't planning on screaming at you, sorry about that," He whips to look at Yuri, who has his eyes fixed on the screen. "The way I planned it out in my head was more...smooth. I definitely wasn't trying to take advantage of your temporary weakness."

Otabek had forgotten all about why he was in Yuri's apartment in the first place, "Oh."

"...Did I scare you with my yelling?"

"A little."

"Yeah, sorry. I'm trying to work on the screaming thing," Yuri starts, tapping a finger on his knee. Otabek decides to loosen; he's not the only one who's nervous.

"Yuri."

"Yeah?"

"Can I hold your hand?" His voice decides to crack in the middle, and he grimaces when Yuri turns to him. "Please."

He gets something better than that. Yuri lets out a little chuckle and pushes Otabek onto one the end of the couch that's littered with cushions, Yuri worming between his arms, apple shampoo wafting to him. His arms comes around to hold him, and he quite likes the position since Yuri can't see how red he is.

"Oh, I should have asked, but tell me if you're uncomfortable."

Otabek buries his nose into his hair, the TV settling on a foreign movie, "I'm fine.... Since when?"

"Hasetsu during the fireworks. You?"

"Hasetsu after the fireworks. I couldn't sleep at all that night."

Yuri turns to look up at him, pupil shrinking as the sun decides to peek out of the clouds and brighten the apartment, "I mean what I said though, about your career. Do what makes you happy. Screw everyone else."

"They're my parents too."

"Yeah but from the sound of it they weren't around much were they?" He frowns as he lays his head down on Otabek's chest. His heart decides to play traitor and speeds up; Yuri can probably tell. "You lived with your relatives for most of your life."

"...Yeah," Otabek unhappily sighs, "I'm just torn."

Yuri looks up again, biting his lip, "I'm sorry I can't help." He looks so helpless that Otabek smooths his hair and starts humming.

"It's okay."

When the inevitable comes and Otabek has to fly back to Almaty, he gives Yuri his goodbyes at his apartment, knowing that the press will be camping out at the airport. Sasha chirps at his feet as Yuri winds his scarf around his neck, bending down to kiss him chastely on the cheek before they leave.

"Win gold for me okay?" Yuri easily says, hands shoved in his pockets as they hover in front of security. "There's still Chris and Georgi, but you can beat them I'm sure. Davai."

Otabek hugs him, whispering into his ear, "If I win, do I get borscht again?"

"Borscht and katsudon piroshki. I'll even let you play your classical music next time when we eat."

"What a tempting offer," He teases, tapping Yuri's nose. "Don't make trouble."

The innocent look Yuri shoots him is overdone, but he laughs anyway, waving as Otabek starts to move backwards, "I'll try not to."

(Coach Denis tsks when he picks Otabek up from the airport, muttering about spontaneity under his breath)

He ends up winning gold at Four Continents and Worlds, Chris and JJ standing beside him, Yuri sitting in the audience, a full blown grin on his face.

✧✧✧

"I'm going to hold off on getting a degree."

His father frowns at him over the video call, "You're still on that? You've won gold in every single competition, isn't it tiring?" Outside, the snow is falling, and he waits for Yuri in the apartment lobby. Victor and Yuuri are waiting for them, ready to support Yuri through the Russian Nationals.

"I want to travel for a bit. After that we'll see what happens." 

"...You're like Ruslan to the bone, always disobeying orders."

Otabek nods easily, "He's a cool uncle, definitely supported me through the years," His father narrows his eyes at that, but Otabek's become immune to the man who once made him question his entire career. "I'll be fine. Trust me."

"Bah, as long as you're healthy I guess it's fine."

"Otabek!" A voice calls from the elevators. 

His father perks up at the voice, "Is that Yuri? You have to go then."

"Yeah, sorry."

"Let your mother and I know where you're heading before you leave."

"Of course, see you," His father waves before Otabek taps the red button, sliding his phone into his jacket as Yuri comes up to him, pulling his bag along. 

"Thanks for waiting. Was that your dad?"

"Mhm. He was calling in the middle of his lunch break. My mom was on coffee duty today so she couldn't say hi," He braces himself against the cold wind stinging whatever skin is exposed, hurrying into the safety of Victor's car as they drive to the rink. All in all, his relationship with his parents have improved...slightly. It's a work in progress for sure since they all lead busy lives.

Yuri does beautifully in the free program, breaking yet another world record as Otabek sits beside him in the kiss and cry, grinning when Yuri hops to his feet and waves to the crowd. Victor and Yuuri take them out for dessert, smiling knowingly at Otabek when they drop them off at the airport, Yuri confused.

"Are we picking up someone? Is Chris visiting?"

Yuuri wheels the two luggages Otabek had hidden in Victor's trunk while Yuri was scrambling to get his bag for the competition ready, "Nope, here take these, they're yours."

"What? What's going on?" Yuri immediately turns to Otabek, who's grinning widely, "Oi, Beka, tell me!"

He waves the two boarding passes in front of him, "How do you feel about spending a week in Reykjavik?" 

* * *

_"Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for a very special gala performance. After taking a season off, he has recently announced that he's returning to the ice more inspired than ever! Skating to Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue with our gold medalist Yuri Plisetsky, he is the three time world champion, representing Kazakhstan, Otabek Altin!"_

**Author's Note:**

> i really want to write the adventures Otabek has with JJ in vancouver lmao. maybe that's for the next story.
> 
> i'm not really happy with how much i rushed this fic at the end but i hope you enjoyed it. \o/ good luck to all my fellow students returning to school!
> 
> title is from eric whitacre's lux aurumque, i recommend a listen if you're interested


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